Stranger's Hands
by cookiecutter144
Summary: This is my first story, please don't be too harsh. After Sam has yet another rough day at school, it seems like there are only two things that can comfort her: Danny or a razor. She would love to pick Danny, but it doesn't seem that Sam is in full control of herself. I promise fluff at some point in the story, as well as sweetness! r
1. Chapter 1

Sam walked into her bedroom, exhausted after the long day of abuse from her peers. As she dropped her spider backpack to the floor, she rolled her shoulders, getting some of the tension out of them. She crossed the room, her boots making a soft thud against her plush carpeting as she neared the bathroom. She glanced into the mirror, wondering if her weariness and pain was reflected in her violet eyes.

Her creamy skin was paler than its usual Gothy tone, and her dark makeup was smudged so badly she looked like she hadn't slept in weeks. Her full lips were bitten and chapped, evidence of the stress she'd been under. Her gaze returned to her eyes, and the pain it seemed only she could see in their amethyst depths.

Why don't they notice? she wondered. Tucker and Danny are my best friends, and yet keeping this from them has been all too easy. I understand that they're busy, but still—don't I matter enough that they'd see this? This aching, echoing emptiness. This hurt, this self-hatred?

_Maybe it's because they don't care,_ the little voice whispered in the back of her mind. _Your parents obviously don't—they can't even be home and around you for more than a week at a time. And they're supposed to love you. Danny and Tucker—all you guys have in common is being rejects. And ghost hunting._

_No,_ Sam denied stubbornly, refusing to believe that Danny—whose very name could send tingles of warmth through her, almost bringing a smile to her face—didn't care about her. Surely the warmth she'd seen in his beautiful eyes indicated some sort of affection. Or the way his face brightened when he saw her—what else could it mean?

_Maybe that he thinks you're hot? Or at least, attainable. It's not like his crush on Paulina is ever going to pan out, but he's still a hormonal teenage boy. And you _do_ wear skirts a lot…_

She was distracted from her gloomy thoughts by the sudden feeling of being watched. She glanced around, disturbed. Seeing no one, she turned back to the mirror, but before her gaze reached it again, it was distracted by a glimpse of her razor.

_No,_ she thought, fighting what she knew was going to happen. _I don't need to. It's okay. _

But her hand seemed to move of its own volition, drawing relentlessly closer to the sharp blade.

_Stop,_ she screamed in her thoughts. _Please, stop_.

But she couldn't. She didn't really have control anymore. Instead, she felt like she was floating, looking down on herself, as some stranger's hands—she wouldn't call them hers—dragged the razor across the fragile skin of her wrist. Her chest ached, a numb spot where a heart usually is throbbing as her blood blossomed, garishly red against her pale skin.

_No more,_ she wailed.

_Not deep enough,_ her other side said, and drew the razor back for a second swipe. She was just about to yank it across again, harder than before, when white gloved hands grabbed hers with gentle firmness.

"Sam," Danny Phantom said softly, heartbreak in his voice. "Stop. Please."

She looked up into his emerald eyes, his angular features framed by his shock of white hair, and felt something inside of her break. Her eyes welled with tears, and she dropped the razor, her hands going limp in his grasp.

"Danny," she said. "I-i"

"Shh," he murmured, pulling her close. "It's okay, Sam. I've got you."

Feeling his arms around her, comforting and safe, Sam wasn't able to hold back tears any longer. She melted into his sculpted chest, relaxing fully for the first time in God-knows-how-long as he stroked her hair, soothing her.

Danny tried to ease his mind, but it kept spiraling back to the scene he had glimpsed when he flew by on patrol: Sam, her eyes glassy, blood dripping from her wrist as she readied the razor for another go.

If he hadn't already been half ghost, he would have had a heart attack from the sight. As it was, he nearly started crying himself. He'd had no idea Sam was feeling so bad, but he was determined to fix it. The thoughts of the things he would do to the person causing her such pain spun though his head, but they were interrupted by a particularly loud intake of breath.

He looked down at her, forcing himself to ignore how right she looked—and felt—in his arms. She returned his gaze, and he found himself getting lost in her gorgeous eyes. She sniffled, and burrowed closer to him. He tightened his grip, giving her a hug.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled. "You shouldn't have had to see that."

"Sam," he said, saddened. "_I'm_ sorry. You shouldn't have been in so much pain. And that, I _should_ have seen. I'm so sorry."

She shrugged. "It's okay."

"No it's not. Thank God I got here when I did, but still…Sam. I couldn't bear to lose you. What's wrong?" Up until that point, he hadn't realized just how much he cared about her. How much it would destroy him if she was gone. She, despite being a Goth, was his bright point in life.

"School. Parents. Not sleeping. Everything," she said, running her hand through her hair.

He frowned. "How can I help?" He wanted to protect her more than anything, to never again let her feel so low that taking a razor to herself felt better than what she did.

She looked at him. That was _not_ the reaction she had expected. She expected him to run, to call her a freak—anything but this. That he wanted to help…did that mean he cared? As more than a friend?

Their gazes met, and suddenly Danny couldn't think. She was _so_ beautiful, and she was in his arms. He moved his face in to kiss her, not even realizing what he was doing. He was momentarily saddened when her eyes fluttered close, but then her lips met his, and his closed also.

_Sam_, he thought, drinking her in. Her taste was more addicting than any drug, the feel of her lips against his more pleasurable than he had ever imagined it could be. He cupped her face with one hand, feeling her hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. He lightly ran his tongue over her upper lip, tracing its curve. She gasped, allowing him access to her mouth, and he explored there too.

Her free hand dug into his back, sending tingles all over. He pulled her closer, and she obliged, straddling him. He let out a moan as he felt her heat against him, her body flush against his. He ran his hand down the curve of Sam's waist, discovering her body with his fingertips.

Deciding that wasn't enough, he moved his mouth from hers, albeit regretfully, and nuzzled his way down her neck, breathing warm air onto it before licking it and biting her gently. She moaned his name, and he felt himself growing harder against her.

She rocked against him, and he stopped for a moment, stunned by how good it felt. "Sam," he growled. She looked at him, and grinned wickedly.

He smiled back, and pulled her down on top of him to kiss her again. When they came up for air, he paused before continuing.

"You know, this isn't how I planned on my evening going," he said.

"It's a nice change," Sam replied glibly, going in to kiss him again. This time, he controlled himself enough to keep it sweet and gentle, as that matched what was on his mind at the time.

"Sam, stop a sec," he said, pulling away from her.

It was as if he had poured ice down her back, as she disentangled herself from him.

_This is the part where he tells me that I'm just not good enough for him,_ she thought. _Or worse, that it could screw up our friendship, so let's pretend it never happened. Oh God, oh God, oh God._

Her thoughts were almost loud enough to drown out his words, but his touch drew her attention back.

"Sam," he said, his voice and hand gentle as it cupped her face. He looked at her with such wonder, such softness, such—_Don't. Don't say it. There's no going back if it's said._ "I don't want to go any further than this right now. I don't want to be taking any advantage with you, Sam. You matter so much more to me than that, and I don't want to cheapen this. I love you."

His words crashed over her, each one a blow of rejection. She could feel her eyes welling up again, and almost missed his last words. When they registered, she looked at him with shock.

"You…love…me?" she repeated, not sure which part confounded her most. That he, the amazing Danny Phantom, who was also her best friend Danny Fenton, could love her, the disturbed, freaky Goth chick, was totally mind blowing.

He smiled, and phased back into a human, his eyes going from a glowing green to a deep blue within seconds. "Sam, I love you so much. How could I not? You're amazing, smart, funny, drop dead gorgeous, brave, caring, sweet, impassioned…I could go on and on, Sam. I love you. And I don't want us to be just a one night stand, only because you were vulnerable. I want us to last."

Knowing that someone cares so much made Sam's heart swell. "I…I didn't think I mattered to you."

"You thought _what?!_" Danny said, looking at her, shocked. "Sam, how could I _not_ care? If not like this, then as a friend? Because no matter what, I'm that."

"I figured you'd get over it if I…" she mumbled, looking away.

_If you what?_ he wondered. And then the pieces came together: the razor, the depth of the cuts, her surprise that someone cared, that he would just 'get over it'…

"Oh, Sam, no," he said, his voice breaking. "No, no, no. Please don't." He didn't realize it, but tears were running down his face.

She glanced up at him, and saw him crying. Guilt hit her in the stomach like Skulker's fist. She moved over to him, wrapping her arms around him and laying her head on his shoulder.

"I won't," she promised.

"Good," he said, returning her embrace, and holding her tightly before scooping her into his arms and carrying her over to her bed.

He set her down on it, and lay down next to her after kicking off his shoes.

"What are you doing?" she asked warily, her eyes drooping. Crying and cutting and kissing had taken a lot out of her that day—and she'd been exhausted when she walked in to her room.

"Sleeping with you," he murmured in reply, pulling her close to him.

"Why?" she asked, curling into him. She inhaled his smell, spicy and clean.

"Because I'm too tired to fly home, and this is the most relaxed I've been all month," he replied drowsily.

"Mmmm," Sam said, drifting off to sleep, finally at peace in Danny's arms. He smiled, looking down at her beautiful face, before he joined her.

Neither of them noticed the malevolent figure watching them for a little longer before flying back to its master.

**A/N This is just chapter one, I hope to update with chapter two in a few weeks! Stay tuned! :)**

**Also, if this was too fluffy or angsty for you, I'm sorry, and the next few chapters aren't as drastic as this one! **


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N Sorry this took me so long, thanks for waiting so patiently! Enjoy! :) R&R please**

**Oh, and I don't own any rights to this story, Butch Hartman does.**

On his flight home, Danny was a whirlwind of emotions. On one hand, he was worried about Sam, but he knew that telling anyone about what he'd seen, or what she'd done, would only hurt her worse. He couldn't bear to cause her any pain, but he didn't know what to do.

On the other hand, he was absolutely ecstatic. They had kissed! And it had been so amazing—never in his wildest dreams had he though Sam would respond as enthusiastically as she had. Just remembering it sent tingles all over his body.

_But,_ his nagging inner voice asked,_ did she only respond like that because she was such an emotional wreck? Maybe I was just a welcome distraction to her._

The thought that maybe she had only kissed him to stabilize herself rocked him, making him drop about twenty feet. Luckily, there was no one out and about this early in the morning—he was flying home around 3 a.m., after realizing that there was no way to explain his presence in Sam's bed. He'd hated to leave her, but he knew it wouldn't be for very long.

He sighed, and at that exact moment, his ghost sense went off. He groaned in his head. He was tired, he was worried, and he didn't want to fight ghosts anymore tonight. Unfortunately, he didn't have the luxury of getting what he wanted anymore, so he wearily looked around.

The ghost was flying in the opposite direction from him, headed in the same direction as Sam's house. It looked fairly harmless, thin and wispy, but he didn't want it within an inch of his sleeping beauty, especially not given her current mood. He shot a bolt of ectoplasm at the apparition, getting just the tip of its tail. Its back end scrunched up, recoiling from the pain, and it whirled up to face its attacker.

Once it spotted Danny, it soared up to meet him, and he got his first good look at it. It was a smoky gray, and had occasional flashes of red when it moved. It was dressed with a medieval style tunic and flowers entwined in its hair. He guessed it was a girl, but it was hard to tell as the specter's face was constantly changing.

He opened his mouth, prepared to start in with witty banter, but the ghost gave him no opportunity. Its tendrils of hair reached towards him, faster than he could see, and wrapped around his wrists and ankles, immobilizing him and digging into his skin at the same time. He felt a wave of sluggishness slowly engulf him, despite his adrenaline rush. Suddenly its face morphed, its mouth opening in a ghoulish scream. It unleashed some variation of a ghostly wail on him, glowing as red as blood.

Undaunted, he sent a wave of ectoplasm to cover his body, pushing it out in one consistent surge to rid himself of the thing's locks. It worked momentarily, but he was soon caught again. It drew him towards it with irresistible force, and he felt the first flickers of fear. He had thought he was invincible, but it appeared that there were still ghosts in the ghost zone that could beat his butt—and he had had the misfortune to meet one, exhausted, on his way home from Sam.

_Sam_. What would she do if he was gone? If he lost to this ghost? Especially if it happened as he was flying home from her house?

_She'd never forgive herself_, he thought bleakly. _And what would all that guilt make her do? _

The thought of a cruel razor slicing across her delicate wrists, again—spilling her precious lifeblood, but none of her pain—gave him the extra jolt of strength he needed to try to resist this shade again.

He charged up yet another ecto-blast, ready to shoot it from his skin if need be. He was surprised by how exhausted he felt—it was almost as if his ghost powers had been reduced by this ghost's tresses.

Luckily for him, he was spared making another attempt, because the ghost suddenly released him, and flew away.

He was so drained that he couldn't control his flight, and plummeted down to the ground. The sidewalk below him got closer and closer, and he still couldn't control his ghost powers enough to do anything to soften the impact. He debated going intangible, but realized that—with the way that his ghost powers were bugging out—he could easily get stuck there if he did. He managed to curl into a ball, hoping that that would lessen his crash. It didn't.

His back hit the ground first, sliding along the asphalt hard enough that he was glad he was still in ghost form. Then, as he rolled in a backwards sort of summersault, he changed back into a human. His shirt rode up, causing him to scrape his skin on the pavement.

When his momentum finally ran out, he laid still for a moment, trying to catch his breath. He eventually rose, tired and drained of spectral energy, and looked around for his attacker. Unfortunately, it had disappeared, and he couldn't attack it again.

Or at least, that was what he told himself as he staggered into Fenton Works and dragged his battered, bushed body up the stairs.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N Here you go guys, here's chapter 3! Sorry it took so long :( R&R, tell me what you think :)**

If anyone had ever caught Sam Manson dreaming the way she was tonight, she'd have to move. Goth's didn't—or at least, _shouldn't_—have dreams filled with flowers and sunshine and gushing happiness. But tonight, she did.

_It was just her and Danny in her dreamscape, sharing the clichéd picnic in a meadow. Oddly enough, her cynical barriers were down, and instead of mocking the corniness, she embraced it. _

"_Sam, you know that you're just so amazingly beautiful, right? You make my heart stutter step every time I see your gorgeous eyes," Danny said, his voice as sweet and smooth as honey. _

_She blushed, even in her dream, but refused to shrug off his words. _Just this once_, she told herself, _I'm going to savor this_. "You have far better eyes, Danny," she mumbled abashedly._

_His grin widened. "Maybe I do, though I doubt it. But I highly doubt that my face even comes close the perfection yours is." He leaned closer to her, cupping her face in his. "Especially," he murmured, getting even closer to her, while keeping eye contact, "when…I…do…this."_

_Which each word he had brought his face closer and closer to hers, and on 'this', he kissed her, soft and sweet, but insistently. Sam let out a small moan, and wound her hands into his hair, pulling him tight against her. He obligingly wrapped his arms around her, and they relaxed into the embrace simultaneously. _

Sam rolled over in her bed, longing to be closer to Danny, whom she'd fallen asleep next to, and encountered cold sheets. The sharp difference jolted her out of her sleep, as did the sudden biting ache in her wrist.

"Danny?" she slurred as she peeled open her eyes. When she realized he wasn't there, she felt a stab of disappoint, and pain. Questions swirled through her mind, each one stinging, and sending a numb despair a little bit deeper into her heart.

_Why didn't he stay? Did I like, fart in my sleep or something and scare him off? Did he only stay long enough to make sure I would go to bed okay? Did he really mean it when he said he loved me?_

The last one sent a jolt through her. Had Danny finally said that? The momentous sentence she had spent the past few years waiting for had finally been said last night—was it only because he came across her slitting her wrist? Did he mean love in a friend sense?

But friends didn't kiss each other like that, did they? That had definitely _not_ been a friend-kiss. That had been the type of kiss that one would see in a movie, when the hero and the heroine finally realize that they're perfect for each other. _Usually right before something bad happens,_ she thought.

For some reason, that analogy filled her with a sense of foreboding.

Danny woke up to a pounding on his door. Jazz was yelling through it, but he couldn't quite make out the words. Something about it being nearly supper?

_Wait. Nearly _supper?_ What the heck had happened to the day? _Had he really slept that long? What had he been doing last night, drinking? Boy would Sam kill him if he—_Sam!_

Sam. And he didn't call her or anything all day—what must she be thinking? That he didn't care? That it had been a moment of weakness? That he regretted it? _Shit._

He ran his hands over his jeans, searching desperately for his cell phone, but was unable to find it.

"Danny!" his mother shouted up at him. "Unless you're in danger from a ghost, you have until I count to three to get down here!"

He was on his feet in an instant, scrambling for decently clean clothes to wear to supper. He didn't want his parents to be asking why his clothes were torn, dirty, and bloodstained. The less his family knew about his night career the better—who knew what they'd do to him if they found out he was half ghost? Dissect him? As he knew well, love and hatred tend to coexist—and his parents hated ghosts.

"One!"

He yanked his barely clean jeans on, ignoring the ache in his legs, and stripped his white T-shirt off, exposing a chest that ghost hunting had only done good for. His skin, while slightly pale, had a light line of hair from his belly button, which sat right smack dab in the bottom third of his toned abs, that disappeared under the waistband on his boxers. His arms were toned, but not bulky. He might never admit it out loud, but this was probably one of his favorite perks to ghost hunting—he couldn't wait till the day Sam saw him and—

"Two!" His mother's voice screeched up the stairs, breaking through his thoughts.

He dashed to the bathroom to wash the blood and grit off his face and chest before slipping a clean T-shirt—this one uncharacteristically black—over his head.

He was still pulling it down as he dashed down the stairs. Right as he hit the kitchen, the phone rang.

Sam had put off calling Danny all day. She didn't want to seem whiney, or desperate, but she really needed to talk to him. She tried everything to distract herself, from cleaning to baking to experimenting with makeup to homework—everything. But nothing worked for more than thirty seconds. Danny, like an annoying rash, kept popping up in her brain.

So, at first, it was almost a welcome reprieve when a ghost came crashing through her window. Sure, she'd be ashamed to admit it, but her first thought was _Ahhh….now I finally have a reason to call Danny. _

However, once she really looked at the ghost, she realized that she had been too hasty in her relief. This ghost was positively creepy, with long, tendril like hair, a druidic tunic, and blood red eyes.

It smiled an evil grin and reached for her with its hair. Sam tried to back up, but could only go so far.

"Where's your boyfriend now, mortal?" it asked, leering, it's teeth covered with a bloody shine.

"I don't need a man to fight my battles for me," Sam said with more confidence than she felt.

It chuckled. "Sure you don't." Sam was about to reply in kind, but at that moment it lunged at her. She leaped out of the way, but the ghost's hair caught her, and the tentacle like hair wound around her. Little stingers, almost like teeth, punctured her skin. She was about to cry out, when all of a sudden a drowsiness flooded her veins.

"Danny," she whispered before passing out.

"I'll get it!" Danny shouted to his mother as he raced towards the phone. Snatching it off the cradle, he said "Hello?"

"Ghost boy," a velvety, haunting voice said. "You foiled my plans."

"Who is this?" Danny demanded.

The voice chuckled. "Wouldn't you like to know? I'm someone very powerful, and I've been sleeping a very long time…all I need is the blood of a ghost slut to fully awaken."

Danny felt icy rage creep up his spine. This creep had better not be referring to Sam.

"Oh, but I am, young ghost boy. I do indeed have your—ahem—friend in my possession. And I'll be draining her dry on Samhain…unless you get to her first."

"Why warn me?" Danny asked, confused. He was glad he had been warned, but if this cretin only wanted Sam's blood, there was no tactical advantage to warning Danny.

"I believe in honor, and fairness—I will give you a chance to save your damsel in distress, as it were. But only if you hurry. Also, I've heard of your prowess, halfa. Taking you down quickly will help restore me to my former position."

"You can try to take me down," Danny said angrily, "you horrible, disgusting, chauvinist—" Halfway through his tirade, of all the bad words he could think of (without swearing), he realized that the line had gone dead.

He mentally swore and was about to go ghost when he heard his mom come into the hallway, an irate expression on her usually beautiful face.

"Three."

**A/N Hope you enjoyed it, and don't forget to Read and Review :)**


End file.
